Periphery
by 00AwkwardPenguin00
Summary: A rare genetic disease turns Tim McGee's world upside down, leaving him legally blind. Obscure Ailments Challenge. CaelumFelis is now 00AwkwardPenguin00!
1. CHAPTER ONE: Onset

Periphery  
>An NCIS Fanfic<br>By CaelumFelis  
>Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or anything associated with it.<p>

**Author's Note: Hello again everyone, I'm back! This is my entry for the Obscure Ailments Challenge on the NCIS Fanfiction Addiction Community Forums. Once again, it is McGee-centric, but the rest of the team will be there! This one I've got plotted out from start to finish, which is really good, because I have less than sixty days to finish it! Wish me luck, and enjoy!**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER ONE: Onset<strong>

_Day 1  
>Monday<em>

Tim smacked his alarm clock into submission and yawned, rolling over in bed. Sunlight from the window struck him square in the face, dashing any hopes of sleeping in that he might've entertained. He sat up, stretched, and blinked.

And blinked again.

His vision was fuzzy. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he'd simply gotten something in them. Blinking once more, he focused (or at least attempted to) on the plasma screen mounted on the wall facing him. The lines of the device that were sharp and clear last night when he went to sleep were now fuzzy and indistinct, and he could barely tell where the plasma screen ended and the plastic casing began.

A shrill bark sounded in his ear, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jethro grinning a "good morning" doggy grin at him, the German Shepherd's tail wagging wildly. But when Tim turned to look at him head on, his dog went blurry- he could barely see Jethro's milk chocolate eyes in his dark chocolate face.

"This is so weird," Tim murmured, rubbing his eyes again. He got up and started his usual morning routine, throwing on a pair of running shorts (recognized more by color and texture than by sight) and a t-shirt (he could just make out the large MIT on the front) and lacing up his sneakers more from muscle memory than from actually looking at them.

He went to the kitchen, where Jethro was waiting with his leash in his mouth. Tim squinted as he located the ring on Jethro's collar where he usually clipped the leash, finding it almost purely through touch. He rubbed his eyes again, growling in frustration. Jethro whined, and Tim sighed and scratched his dog's ears.

"I'm sorry, buddy, we'll get going now," Tim said quietly. He stood up, grabbed his keys, wallet, and cell phone (after squinting a bit to find them) and walked out the door, locking it as he left purely out of habit.

Tim kept their run short, unnerved by how disoriented he got by running with his vision so screwed up. He made it to the local dog park, which was blessedly empty due to how early it was. He got Jethro's leash off with a touch of difficulty, and found a bench to sit on while Jethro ran and romped and burned off his excess energy. Tim rubbed his eyes again.

_Maybe I need a vacation or something,_ he mused. _Something that doesn't require reading… or __looking__ at anything…_ He glanced at his watch, recognizing the time more by the position of the hands than by reading the numbers. He whistled for Jethro, fumbled with the leash again, and set off for home.

Showering and getting dressed was easy enough, since he was familiar enough with his home and clothes to be able to do both with his eyes closed. Breakfast, however, was a bit tricky- he overfilled his coffee mug twice, and misaimed the milk for his cereal. He ate quickly, refilled Jethro's water and food bowls, and grabbed his backpack. Blinking fiercely, he decided against driving, and with a quick, "See you later, Jethro!", raced out the door.

He was ten minutes late to work, due to getting lost in the Metro and getting on the wrong train once. He ran out of the elevator and into the bullpen just as Gibbs' desk phone rang, barely making it to his desk before the team leader swooped in to answer it.

"Welcome to the party, McTardy," Tony snickered. "Late night with the typewriter and the McMutt?"

Tim was about to fire back a retort when Gibbs slammed the phone down. "Grab your gear, got a dead Navy lieutenant in Reston. McGee, gas the truck." He tossed the keys to Tim, who managed to catch them without embarrassing himself through sheer luck and muscle memory.

"Yes Boss," he murmured, grabbing his backpack and hoofing it to the stairs. He went through the procedure through habit, barely needing to look at anything. Tony arrived just as he was finishing, slipping into the front seat as Tim replaced the gas nozzle. Tim voiced no objection, he was perfectly content to let Tony drive, opting for leaning his head back on the headrest and keeping his eyes closed the entire journey.

Tony fulfilled his role as chatterbox, talking about anything and everything under the sun, although he asked surprisingly few questions about Tim's lateness. Tim wasn't holding his breath, he knew that it would come up eventually. In the meantime, he simply basked in the luxury of not being under Tony's microscope.

They arrived at the scene and immediately got to work, finding the lieutenant in question lying spread-eagled face down behind a strip mall in the middle of a rather bustling residential center, his back riddled with bullet holes.

"DiNozzo, sketch," Gibbs ordered. "David, photos. McGee, bag and tag."

"Yes Boss!"

"Got it, Boss."

"Yes, Gibbs."

_Crap_, Tim thought. _Of all the days for my eyesight to go screwy, it has to be one on which we catch a fresh case._

Within five minutes, Tim felt like a probie again, messing up the simplest things. Thankfully, Ziva was the one who found most of the evidence, but Tim, as the one assigned to collect and label said evidence, had to pick it up, get it into an evidence bag, and write what it was, where it was found, and who found it. Half the time he could barely see what he was picking up, and the other half he could barely see what he was writing and where he was writing it.

Finally, they had finished at the scene, and Gibbs ordered Tim and Tony to take the evidence back to the Yard for Abby to start processing.

Tim could feel Tony's eyes on him as they packed up the truck, but he couldn't take his attention away from what he was doing, since he could barely see his own hands. Ten minutes later, they were ready to go, and Tim hopped into the passenger seat without argument, alternating between rubbing his eyes and his temples, nursing a massive headache that was equal parts eyestrain and pure stress.

Tony waited until they were stuck in rush hour traffic on the Beltway before speaking.

"What's with the squints, Probie? You look like a grumpy old man when you do that."

"Thanks, Tony," Tim grumbled.

"But really, man, what's up? Your contacts bothering you or something?" Tony pressed.

"Don't wear contacts, Tony," Tim growled.

"Maybe you need some, then," Tony replied cheerfully.

Tim didn't answer. He simply laid his head back and closed his eyes, praying that they'd caught a quick case and he'd be able to get home before midnight.

That, of course, was not the case.

It began with Abby and the evidence.

"I can't read a single word on these tags, Gibbs!" She yelled, causing not only Tim, but Tony and Ziva as well, to cower in awe and fear of the enraged lab bat. "Who the hell collected this evidence? They should be fired!"

Gibbs didn't cower, but the anger in his voice was palpable. "McGee," he growled. "Help Abby."

"Y-yes, B-Boss," Tim stammered, turning in the direction of the fuzzy Abby. He couldn't quite make out her expression, but he knew from experience that her acid green eyes would be narrowed, her brow furrowed, and her lips scrunched up in an angry pout. He hated that look, especially when it was directed at him.

"Have fun, McDoghouse!" Tony called as Gibbs led him and Ziva upstairs.

_Yeah,_ Tim thought, gulping. _Oodles._

The lab was silent for several minutes, until, with a loud angry huff, Abby grabbed one of the evidence bags and shoved it in Tim's face.

"Do you _see_ this, McGee?" She yelled, a fuzzy pink finger practically stabbing a fuzzy black and cream square on the plastic bag. He could just make out the word "EVIDENCE" stamped across the top of the square in big black block letters, but that was it. Everything else was a blur.

But he knew better than to tell Abby something like that when she was in the middle of a rant like this.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"_Yes,"_ Abby mimicked sarcastically. "Were you drunk on the job this morning, McGee? I swear _Tony's_ got better handwriting than you!"

_Now that's not fair,_ Tim thought plaintively. His handwriting was almost perfect- his father had demanded nothing less. Abby knew this, so why was she just ignoring his history and zeroing in on this single, isolated event?

He stood and fumed as Abby continued to rant at him, yelling about procedure and preservation of evidence and the need for clarity and neatness when collecting it. Knowing that trying to defend himself was pointless, he instead focused on trying to decide if he should find an optometrist. He'd never needed visual correction before, and judging by how (rather nauseatingly) blurry everything was, he'd gone from nearly perfect vision to needing contacts practically overnight. And it seemed to be getting worse by the hour, if his inability to see whatever scribbles he'd jotted down on the evidence tags just a few hours before was any indication.

"McGee, are you even listening to me?" Abby demanded, and Tim was jerked out of his thoughts rather abruptly as she stomped a platform booted foot dangerously close to his own shoe.

"Yes, and you're right," Tim sighed, not even bothering to try to remember the lecture he'd just daydreamed through.

"You're damn right I am," Abby snarled. "Now go stand over there and don't touch anything. I need to fix this mess you made." She pointed to the corner of the room, a bare section of wall underneath the window, and Tim sighed again and trudged over, leaning his forehead against the brick and closing his eyes.

Of course, the day only got worse from there.

When Tim was finally allowed to return to the bullpen, he could barely see the numbers on the elevator buttons. The second he sat down at his desk, he began changing the settings on his monitors, zooming the screens in as far as they could possibly go. The text was still fuzzy, but at least he could read it.

And just in time, too, as Gibbs came striding into the bullpen, demanding an update.

Tony and Ziva rattled off their findings quick enough, but Tim, who was still catching up from his time in exile, had nothing. He was reading a single word at a time, and had only gotten part way through Tony's report on their victim's background. Lieutenant Dexter Savage, thirty eight years old, had graduated from the Naval Academy with high honors, and had completed eight cruises on the USS _Truman_ when he was granted shore leave to visit his family, consisting of his ailing mother, four sisters (two older, two younger), and two younger brothers.

"McGee, background checks on the family," Gibbs ordered, his tone rather resigned. Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that not only would Gibbs wallop him on the back of the head because of his visual display of attitude, it would also make his headache worse.

_You'd think that I was this stupid on a regular basis,_ he groused inwardly, while to Gibbs he simply said, "Will do, Boss."

"DiNozzo, David, with me," Gibbs barked.

Tim listened to them leave, trying not to feel too left out, trying to tell himself that everything would be fine, he'd be able to see straight again soon, and every minute he stayed out of the field was one less mislabeled evidence bag Abby had to rant about.

It didn't work, however, and Tim spent the next four hours compiling evidence and debating on whether or not he should tell Gibbs that something was wrong.

_***NCIS***_

_Day 4  
>Thursday<em>

"_McGee, where the hell is he?"_ Gibbs' voice blasted over Tim's headset as he struggled to read the GPS signal he was tracking.

"Boss… he's heading west, towards Purceville," he reported. "I'm alerting local LEOs now." Taking a quick calming breath, he typed out an email to as many Loudoun County Sheriff's Offices as he could, telling them to be on the lookout for the dark green Ford Mustang their suspect was using to escape.

Over the last few days, their case had evolved from a random shoot-out behind a strip mall to a frighteningly well-planned gang hit ordered by the oldest of the victim's two younger brothers, who was afraid that the Petty Officer would find out that he was selling their mother's prescription drugs at the local community college. They'd found and arrested the gang member responsible for the physical murder, but hadn't been able to get to the brother, who'd taken off yesterday. Despite his rapidly worsening eyesight, Tim was able to get a lock on the GPS chip in the brother's cell phone, and Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva had taken off in pursuit.

The orange-ish-red dot on his monitor suddenly and inexplicably slowed down, and Tim blinked in surprise before reporting, "He's stopping, Boss… I think he got pulled over…"

Tim's computer dinged as he received an email, and he quickly opened it up and enlarged it as far as it would go. "Just got an email… our suspect was just pinched for speeding, the arresting officer recognized him from the BOLO and is calling for backup to take him to holding."

"_Let him know that we're on our way,"_ Gibbs ordered.

"On it, Boss," Tim replied, already typing. He finished, checked for errors (something he found he'd had to do increasingly more over the week, as his ability to see what he was writing deteriorated), and sent it off, getting a reply almost immediately, a hearty "ten-four". He snorted. The local yokels were always so eager to claim or keep jurisdiction unless there was actual investigative work involved, in which case they dropped the case faster than a hot potato.

Tim sighed and relaxed slightly. Despite his massive screw-up with the evidence on Monday, they actually had a pretty solid case against Ryan Savage, and while a confession would be nice, they had enough to put him away without one. However, knowing Gibbs, they'd get one anyway, just out of principle.

Another email, and Tim alerted Gibbs to the fact that Savage was in the custody of the Loudoun County Sheriff's Office, and was going to be held for them in Sterling. A quick gruff, "Good work, McGee", had Tim grinning and starting on his report, knowing that it would take much longer than normal if he had to go word-by-word.

Three hours later, the elevator dinged, and Tim looked up to see Gibbs-, Tony-, Ziva-, and Savage-shaped blurs striding out of the car and into the bullpen. Gibbs went straight to his desk, while Tony and Ziva began frog-marching Savage down to Interrogation. Tim could hear the man growling in fury, and frowned worriedly. Savage was a big guy, taller than both Tim and Tony, and nearly three times as wide as Ziva, and while he knew both were more than capable of defending themselves and each other, he had serious reservations about their chances against that giant of a man.

Suddenly, that enormous blur moved, faster than Tim would've thought for someone his size, jerking away from Tony and Ziva and barreling at Tim, arms suddenly and inexplicably free.

"_WHAT THE F- ARE YOU LOOKING AT, COP?"_

Tim didn't have time to blink before a fist nearly the size of his head crashed into his cheek, and his head snapped back on his neck. The force of the punch sent him head over heels as his desk chair toppled back and crashed to the ground.

He blinked slowly as the world seemed to physically spin around. He dimly heard Gibbs roar in rage, accompanied by Tony's furious yell and Ziva's irate shriek. A dull crack and a huge thud alerted him to the fact that Gibbs had probably punched Savage's lights out, and Tim was oddly comforted by the thought. A dark blur appeared above him, speaking quietly while gently probing his head and neck for injury.

"You will be all right, McGee, he is gone now," Ziva murmured, gently stroking his hair. "How do you feel?"

Tim opened his mouth, and pain shot through his cheek. He groaned, shaking his pounding head.

"I would imagine," Ziva chuckled. "You are lucky he did not remove your head from your shoulders. Did we not teach you to goose?"

"Duck, Ziva, and we did, but apparently he needs another lesson," Gibbs said, striding back into the bullpen and crouching down next to Tim. "McGee, Ducky's on his way up to check you out, but I think you're done for the day. Take the weekend, and come back ready to work 0700 on Monday."

"Got it, Boss," Tim hissed, trying not to move his face too much. A few minutes later, a third blur appeared, this one blue and white with a dot of red below a pink and light brown blur. Ducky.

"Well, Timothy, I suspect you have now learned the folly of looking askance at a man such as Ryan Savage, hmm?" Ducky chortled, a gentle hand once more probing his head and neck. "Well, I don't believe anything is broken, but you've got some whiplash, and your cheekbone is quite bruised. I must insist that you take a long weekend… and have someone stay with you in case of emergency, at least for tonight. Jethro?"

"He's going, Duck."

"I'll take him home, Boss, he shouldn't drive like that," Tony piped up. "I'll even take both our paperwork with me and do it while he's conked out."

"Concussion check every hour, Anthony, and soft foods for a bit, Timothy," Ducky ordered. He and Gibbs each grabbed one of Tim's arms and helped him up, the movement causing Tim's head to pound even worse. Ducky and Gibbs let go of his arms, and for a moment Tim felt like he was going to fall over until he felt Tony grab his left arm and loop it over his neck.

"C'mon, Probie, let's get you home," he said cheerfully.

_***NCIS***_

_Day 8  
>Monday<em>

Tim smacked his alarm clock into submission, and opened his eyes, staring up at the off-white blur that was the ceiling of his room. The ceiling alone wasn't really a good gauge of how much his sight had deteriorated in the past eight days, although he did remember Saturday mornings where he would lie in bed and count the cracks and pits in the plaster and create constellations out of them.

He sat up, and looked ahead. His TV was a big black fuzzy rectangle in an off-white expanse, and he could only identify the door to his bedroom due to the fact that it was two shades lighter than the rest of his room. His big overstuffed chair was just a mass of green, and the shelves above and below his TV were a mass of brown and multicolored blurs.

He looked down at his hands, now just flesh-colored blurs. He could barely make out his individual fingers, or the stripes on his comforter. He couldn't see the shuttering on the French doors of his closet, or the blinds on his window. His alarm clock was just a blur of white and black, with no red digital numbers at all.

Tim slowly began to panic, fairly leaping out of bed and racing to his bedroom door, finding the doorknob through pure touch and yanking the door open, barely missing hitting himself with it. Running into his writing corner, the "McNovelist Nook" as Tony called it, he spun in a slow circle, straining his eyes as much as he could, but all he saw was a kaleidoscope of colors with no distinct shape. Reaching out blindly, he pulled down a book and opened it, finding the pages almost completely blank. He snapped the book shut, feeling the smooth paper binding, and his fingers found the title, stamped on the other side of the cover so that it was raised on the front.

_The Country of the Blind_

_Oh G-d…_ Tim's hands went limp, and he heard the book fall to the floor with a small thump. _Oh G-d… please, no… no no no no no!_

"Jethro!" He called anxiously. "Jethro, here boy!"

A shrill bark, and he could hear his dog's paws pounding against the floor, coming closer and closer until he felt the large, furry, solid body crash into his legs. He found Jethro's collar and held it as he sank to his knees, keeping the German Shepherd close and facing him. He could hear Jethro panting, smell his doggy morning breath, but all he could see was a mass of brown with a spot of pink, most likely Jethro's tongue, in the middle. He couldn't see Jethro's eyes, his markings, his nose- he could barely make out his ears.

Jethro whined quietly, and gave Tim's cheek a small lick. With a small sob, Tim scrunched up his face and buried it in the Shepherd's fur, the fear and frustration of the past week finally overwhelming him.

_Gotta… gotta get to the hospital… where's my phone?_ Tim shakily stood up and carefully navigated his way back into his bedroom, where he knew his cell phone, the only phone he had in his apartment, would be on his bedside table, charging. Sitting on his bed, he held the iPhone as close to his face as he could, found the emergency call button, and painstakingly dialed 911.

He waited with bated breath as he waited for someone to pick up, and finally a bored, female voice answered. _"911, what's your emergency?"_

"I… I c-can't s-see a-anything…" Tim stammered. "E-everything's r-really b-b-blurry… I-I c-c-can't s-see m-my d-d-dog's f-face w-when h-he's r-right in f-front of m-me… I-I c-can't r-r-read… I-I c-could b-b-barely s-see m-my c-c-cell p-phone w-while I-I w-w-was d-dialing it, a-and I-I w-was h-holding i-it as c-close t-to m-my f-f-face as I-I c-could. I-I t-think I-I n-n-need to g-go t-to the h-h-hospital, b-b-but I-I'm s-scared t-to d-d-drive l-like t-this… c-could y-you p-please s-send s-someone t-to p-pick m-me u-up?"

"_Of course, sir," _the dispatcher said kindly. _"I'm gonna need your name and address, and then I'll send someone to you right away."_

"T-thank y-you," Tim replied shakily. "M-my n-name's T-T-Timothy M-M-McGee." He rattled off his address, and stayed on the line as he carefully filled Jethro's food and water bowls and threw on a pair of sweat pants over his boxers, the lady asking him questions about symptoms and how he'd been feeling the last few days. He told her about getting his clock cleaned by Ryan Savage, and how he'd woken up last Monday to fuzzy vision. The dispatcher was very kind and calming, and before Tim knew it, a knock sounded on the front door, alerting him to the presence of the EMTs.

He thanked the dispatcher and hung up, taking his cell phone with him as he made his way to the door. He unlocked and opened the door to find two dark blue blurs standing in front of him.

"Timothy McGee?" The blur on the left asked, sounding distinctly feminine.

"Just Tim, please," Tim replied automatically. "Thanks for coming out, I'm sorry if I caused any problems."

"No problem, Tim," the blur on the right said, in a man's voice. "We'd rather you call us than try to drive with your vision as screwed up as it sounds like it is. You ready to go?"

Tim nodded, and followed the two blurs out of the apartment and down to the ambulance.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Sorry if Abby comes across as a bitch here, but you know how she is about her evidence, and Tim's not really in the mood to give her the benefit of the doubt like he usually does.<strong>

**The "disease" I'm writing about does not develop as quickly as I'm portraying it here, but this fic would end up being too long (and too boring) if I stuck with the natural time frame. I have read in various places that there have been cases where deterioration has occurred in a matter of weeks (2 to 8 weeks, according to once source) or even days, but the average that has been determined is two to three months. **

**Next chapter: Diagnosis**


	2. CHAPTER TWO: Diagnosis

Periphery  
>An NCIS Fanfic<br>By CaelumFelis  
>Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or anything associated with it.<p>

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><p><strong>CHAPTER TWO: Diagnosis<strong>

_Day 8  
>Monday<em>

Hearing the elevator ding, Gibbs looked up and scowled, ready to give the arriving agent a blistering glare. However, he redirected the scowl as Tony hustled into the bullpen, a take-out tray of coffees balanced precariously in his hand. Instead, he sent the scowl to McGee's desk, unoccupied since 0600, when Gibbs arrived for the morning. It was now 0758… 0759… 0800, and the computer whiz was nowhere to be seen.

To be honest, Gibbs was more worried than angry. McGee was hardly _ever_ late, and if he was, he usually had a pretty damn good reason. And he always, _always_ called either Gibbs, Tony, or Ziva if he was going to be late or absent.

The one time he didn't call… he'd emailed, and his sister had nearly been raped and framed for murder.

Growling in frustration, Gibbs quickly checked his email, but no dice. Empty, and it was now nearing 0815.

"Hey Boss? Wasn't McGee supposed to be here at seven?"

Gibbs glanced at Tony, who was eyeing him worriedly. "Yeah."

"He is late," Ziva stated, frowning. "That is not like him."

"Ya think?" Gibbs' cell phone rang, and he answered without looking at the caller ID. "Gibbs."

"_Boss? It's McGee,"_ the absent agent said quietly.

"McGee, where the hell are you?" Gibbs demanded, his worry manifesting itself as anger, as per usual. "You were supposed to be here over an hour ago!"

"_I know, Boss, and I'm sorry, but…"_

Gibbs' gut clenched. "But what, McGee?" He barked.

"_I'm… I'm at the hospital right now, Boss," _McGee murmured. _"Bethesda. I… I won't be at work for a while."_

If Gibbs didn't know better, he could've sworn McGee was crying. As it was, he definitely sounded like the universe as he knew it had just caved in on top of him. "Why not, McGee? What's wrong?"

A sob sounded over the phone, and Gibbs' gut clenched even harder. _"I can't… I need you here, Boss,"_ McGee whispered. _"I need to see- tell you in person. Please, Boss…"_

Gibbs was already shutting down his workstation and grabbing his gun and badge out of their drawer. "Hang on, McGee, I'm on my way. Just sit tight, all right? Don't move a muscle. I'll be there soon."

"_Not going anywhere, Boss," _McGee whimpered. _"Just… hurry, please?"_

"Go ahead and time me, Tim," Gibbs said kindly, racing for the stairs. "If I'm not there in twenty minutes, I'll buy you coffee for a week."

That won him a small, weak snicker, but it eased the tension in Gibbs' gut as he ran down the stairs as fast as he could. "Just try to relax and hang on, okay Tim? I'm coming, I promise."

"_Thanks Boss,"_ McGee whispered.

"You want me to stay on the line?" Gibbs asked, bursting into the employee parking garage and running to his car.

"_Can't… I'm using the phone at the nurse's station, I need to give it back," _McGee replied. _"Drive safely, Boss."_

"See you in a few, McGee," Gibbs said, and hung up. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he turned the Challenger on and roared out of the garage. If Tim was using the phone at the nurse's station, then that meant that he was up and about, and apparently not too badly injured. But if he wasn't badly injured… then why couldn't he work? McGee had picked up his and DiNozzo's habit of writing off minor injuries like broken bones and major lacerations and the like, so anything less than an amputation meant that Tim would be back at work precisely when the doctor specified, doing as much as he was physically able, and sometimes more.

Gibbs nearly rear-ended the car in front of him as an awful thought barged into his head. What if Tim was sick? Cancer caught early would enable him to be up and about, but would result in the inability to work and the devastation and depression Tim was obviously feeling.

_Oh G-d_, Gibbs thought, fighting the urge to puke. _Not Tim, not after the way I've treated him the last few days…_

Tim had been "off" the entire last week, from the moment he arrived ten minutes late on Monday to the second he left on Thursday, leaning heavily on Tony's shoulder after being knocked almost senseless. The geek had been nervous, unsure of himself, and there were points when the stutter, which Gibbs could've sworn he'd pounded out of the younger man, returned with a vengeance. He wasn't reading as fast as he normally did (Gibbs had once seen the kid read a nearly six inch thick cold case file cover to cover in a little over an hour, and remember all of the major points of the case as well), he was squinting almost constantly, and Gibbs had been able to read Tim's computer screen from the middle landing of the staircase leading up to the mezzanine. And the evidence fiasco on Monday… Gibbs had been absolutely furious at the younger agent, and had taken it out on the kid almost the entire rest of the week.

He had an awful feeling that he'd really screwed the pooch this time.

He pulled into the Bethesda Naval Hospital parking lot and into the first space he saw. He entered the hospital at a run, sprinting straight up to the receptionist's desk.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs, here for Timothy McGee," he demanded breathlessly. "I'm listed as next-of-kin."

"Of course sir, one moment," the receptionist replied, tapping a few buttons on her keyboard. "Timothy McGee, yes, he's in our Optometry wing, floor three, office suite 398."

Gibbs nodded his thanks and took off at a run. He quickly found his way, dodging nurses, doctors, patients, and equipment, all the while wondering what on earth Tim was doing in the Optometry wing.

He entered the office and found Tim sitting in the corner, dressed in a t-shirt and sweats and looking utterly miserable. A packet of stapled papers were clenched in his hands, which rested tensely in his lap, while his bright green eyes stared straight ahead at the wall.

Gibbs strode up to his agent and crouched down so that he was eye level. "Tim," he said quietly, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. Tim blinked, his nostrils flaring slightly, but didn't look away from the wall as he said in a low, trembling voice, "Boss?"

"Yeah Tim, I'm here," Gibbs said, a bit worried by the fact that Tim wouldn't look at him. He kept his hand on the kid's shoulder as he moved to sit in the chair next to him. "What'd you want to tell me, son? Is everything all right?"

"No," Tim answered, blinking rapidly as his eyes began to glisten. "Nothing's all right. Nothing's ever gonna be all right again."

"Talk to me, Tim, tell me what's going on," Gibbs pleaded, quickly becoming alarmed. Tim looked fine, the bruise on his cheek from where Savage had clocked him was slowly fading, he had all of his appendages, and he didn't appear sick. He shifted his hand so that his arm wrapped around both of Tim's shoulders, pulling the younger man close. "Please Tim, I can't help if I don't know what's happening."

"You can't help, no one can," Tim sighed. He held up the packet in his hand, and Gibbs took it, dropping it in his lap to look at it.

_New Approaches to Consider: Suggestions for Individuals with Recent Vision Loss_ by Ramona Walhof. What the hell?

"You're gonna have to spell it out for me, Tim," Gibbs said quietly.

"They think I'm going blind," Tim muttered. "Apparently my "visual acuity has rapidly deteriorated" over the past several days. I've gone from twenty/twenty vision to barely being able to see a hand in front of my face. No shapes, no faces, no details… I can't even read that stupid pamphlet!"

Tim suddenly pulled away, standing up and pacing back and forth. "They've been running tests on me like a damn lab rat all day, trying to figure out what's causing it, but they still don't know a damn thing! All they can tell me is that they've never seen such rapid deterioration before! Well no _shit_, Sherlock!"

Gibbs could only watch in shock as Tim continued to pace and yell, tears running down his cheeks. Of all the things the team leader had expected, this was the last, but looking back over the past week, he wondered why he was so surprised. The signs had been everywhere- the squinting, the zoomed-in computer screens, the mislabeled evidence, the lateness, the fact that Tim didn't duck when Savage punched him… Tim's appearance had become increasingly disheveled over the course of the week, most likely because he couldn't see himself in the mirror… he'd been late because he was probably taking the Metro to work, since he didn't trust himself to drive… he didn't duck the punch because he literally couldn't see it coming…

_Oh g-d… I took him out in the field with me on Wednesday… what if something had happened?_ Gibbs felt his insides turn to ice._ What if he'd gotten hurt because I wasn't paying attention? But he didn't tell me that I had to… no, Jethro, no excuses! You watch out for your team whether they tell you to or not… but why didn't he tell me? Why didn't he feel he could tell me that something was wrong?_

Tim collapsed back into his chair, his face in his hands, and Gibbs immediately wrapped his arm around the younger man again.

"What do I tell everyone?" The kid murmured. "My friends, my family… my father… he still doesn't approve of my job… what if this happened because of something that happened on the job? Christ, can I still even _do_ my job? I've been doing so crappy lately… How can I do my job if I can't even see a computer screen? How can I shoot if I can't see the frickin' target? We've already established that I can't process crime scenes…"

"We'll work it out, Tim," Gibbs rumbled, giving the younger man a gentle squeeze. "You're not gonna go through this alone, you've already gone through too much of it by yourself. Why didn't you talk to someone about what was happening? Me, Ducky, Abby… hell, even DiNozzo or Ziva? We all would've helped you."

"Really Boss? All you cared about was closing the case… and then when I screwed up the evidence from the scene, all bets were off," Tim scoffed. "You had already determined that I couldn't do anything right, this just would've been the final nail in the coffin. And Abby? She _still_ isn't talking to me… not that I _want_ to have anything to do with her right now. She treated me like I haven't done a single thing right since the day I was born, just because of that stupid evidence! Ducky was busy… you know how Daniels' team caught that explosion at Quantico on Tuesday; Ducky was _still_ doing autopsies on Thursday. Tony would've laughed in my face, and Ziva just wouldn't have understood."

Gibbs closed his eyes and cursed himself. He was a g-ddamn investigator, instead of getting angry, he should've seen Tim messing up the evidence as the clue that it was. Something was wrong with his youngest agent, and instead of taking him aside and trying to work out what it was, he'd just written it off as irresponsibility and taken out his fury at the situation on him. "I'm sorry, Tim."

Tim snorted. "Sign of weakness, Boss," he sneered, rubbing his eyes.

Gibbs sighed. "Not when it's necessary, Tim," he replied, giving the kid's shoulders another squeeze.

Tim was quiet for a moment, his eyes closed, tears still leaking out slowly. "I'm scared, Boss," he whispered. "What's happening to me?"

"I know you are, kiddo," Gibbs whispered back. Something caught his eye, and he looked up to see a doctor striding towards them, looking grave. "And I think we're about to find out."

"Timothy McGee?" The doctor asked.

"That's me," Tim whispered.

"I need you to come with me, please."

"Can he come?" Tim asked, jerking his head in Gibbs' direction. "He's my boss, and my medical proxy. And I'd feel… better… if he was with me."

"Of course, I would've asked you to call someone if he wasn't here," the doctor replied kindly. "You're going to need someone to help you, anyhow. Follow me, please."

Tim gulped and stood, Gibbs doing the same and keeping a hand on Tim's shoulder in a show of moral support. Surprisingly enough, the younger man followed the doctor through the crowded office into a smaller office easily, not needing the guidance Gibbs found himself unconsciously providing.

_Okay, that's kind of weird,_ Gibbs thought, as they settled down into chairs in front of a large desk in the tiny office. _If he can't see, how is he getting around so well?_

"Mr. McGee-"

"Tim," Tim corrected automatically. ""Mr. McGee" sounds too close to "Mr. Magoo". And this is Agent Gibbs, my boss."

The doctor chuckled. "Tim, then, and Agent Gibbs," he said graciously, nodding to each. "Tim, I'm Dr. Acker, I'm an ophthalmologist. I specialize in eye diseases or injury. Now, you came in today via ambulance because you said you couldn't see anything?"

"Yeah," Tim replied in a small voice. "I woke up this morning and everything was so blurry that I had to use my hands to identify stuff. I couldn't see my dog's face when he was sitting right in front of me, and I couldn't read a book I had grabbed on my bookshelf. I had to feel the cover to figure out what book it was. I was scared to drive, because if I couldn't see the numbers on my digital alarm clock from less than three feet away, how was I going to see a traffic light?"

Gibbs felt his heart leap into his throat.

"And this started last Monday, correct? Was it this bad, or did it progress gradually?"

"Monday was okay, everything was just a little fuzzy, and I had some trouble reading and writing," Tim answered. "But as the week went on, it started getting worse, and on Thursday I had to go home early because I nearly had my head taken off by a punch I didn't see coming. It kept getting worse and worse through the weekend, and now here we are, and I can barely see a hand in front of my face."

"But your peripheral vision has remained intact, correct? I know it's not really good for much other than getting around and knowing when someone or something is close by, but it's still functional, yes?"

"That's right," Tim said. "I can see somewhat where I'm going when I walk around, and I can see some colors, but that's it. It's like there's this really thick multicolored cloud in front of my face when I try to look at something."

Dr. Acker nodded, and consulted his notes. "According to your eye exam, you were showing some signs of relative afferent pupillary defect-"

"English, Doc?" Gibbs growled.

"He means that my pupils weren't reacting normally to bright, direct light, Boss," Tim said. "In a dark place, when a sudden light comes on, your pupils shrink to regulate the amount of light that goes into your eyes, to avoid hurting them. My pupils didn't react as quickly as they should have, right Doc?"

"Precisely," Dr. Acker said cheerfully, grinning at Tim. "This could mean a number of different things, but the main point is that something is somewhat screwy with your optic nerves." He glanced in Gibbs' direction, and clarified. "The optic nerve is the bundle of nerves that connect your eyes to your brain, and transmit the information your eyes gather to the vision center of your brain for processing."

"Think of it this way, Boss," Tim said suddenly. "The eyes are our team, gathering evidence on a case. The brain is Abby, processing the evidence we gather, and the optic nerves are the elevators going from the bullpen down to the lab. According to the doc, something's wrong with the elevator, so the evidence that the team is collecting is having trouble getting down to Abby's lab. The team is working fine, and Abby is working fine, but the elevators aren't working as well as they should be."

Gibbs grunted in acceptance and smirked. Trust Tim to come up with an analogy like that for something like this.

"So what could be causing the elevators to break down, Doc?" He asked.

"We're not entirely sure right now, Agent Gibbs," Dr. Acker replied. "Tim's MRI and CAT scans are completely normal, so whatever it is, it's not being caused by the brain. And while I haven't gotten Tim's fluid and tissue tests back, I can tell you right now just by looking at him that we're probably not going to find any anomalies there. I'll still look at the results, just to be sure, but I think we're going to have to go deeper."

"How much deeper?" Tim asked nervously.

"DNA level," Dr. Acker said. "There's a few possibilities that we could look at, based on your symptoms and medical history, but the majority of them are hereditary."

"Hereditary?" Gibbs asked, surprised. "Wouldn't it already be in his medical file if there was a history of hereditary disease in his family?"

"Not necessarily," Dr. Acker countered. "DNA and hereditary disease is tricky. Sometimes, a mistake is made when the DNA from the parents combine to create the offspring, some genes may be miscopied or left out completely, but that's very rare. Most of the time, the genes that lead to the condition are recessive traits, and lie dormant in the DNA until, for whatever reason, the recessive traits become dominant. That means that some hereditary conditions could be passed down from generation to generation for years without surfacing, until one lucky individual draws the genetic short straw. If that's the case here, then that means that it wouldn't be in his file, most likely because nobody realized it even existed."

"And besides, Boss, you know how recent genetic screening is," Tim said quietly. "Even if there was evidence of something like this happening to one of my relatives, they wouldn't have been able to positively identify it."

Gibbs grunted. "What needs to happen for this DNA screening?"

"Just a simple blood test," Dr. Acker replied. "I've already scheduled a Lumbar puncture to test the spinal fluid, just in case we missed something there, so we'll draw blood then as well. That won't be until later this afternoon, so that gives you all some time to work out things."

"Hey Doc, what was the result of that eye exam from earlier? Got a number, or something?" Gibbs asked.

Dr. Acker pressed his lips together, his brow furrowing concernedly. "According to the exam results, Tim's visual acuity dropped from 20/20, which is close to perfect vision, to approximately 20/200," he said quietly.

Tim let out a mirthless, barking laugh. "For all intents and purposes, Boss, I'm legally blind."

_***NCIS***_

_Day 10  
>Wednesday<em>

Gibbs sat quietly in the waiting area of the Optometry office, watching Tim pace back and forth once again. They'd been called back by Dr. Acker to go over the results of Tim's remaining tests, the Lumbar puncture and the DNA test.

The last two days had been nerve wracking for both of them, as Gibbs tried to help the younger man adjust to his new designation. Thanks to his remaining peripheral vision, Tim hadn't needed to get a white cane to help him get around, but he had still had to notify the Social Security Administration and NCIS of the situation, and Gibbs had spent the entirety of Tuesday sitting with Tim to fill out paperwork both agencies required in order for the younger agent to receive the benefits he was now qualified for, including assistive technology and possibly a different position at NCIS. They hadn't sent anything in just yet, waiting for a definitive diagnosis of Tim's condition before they attempted to take on the entangled mass of bureaucracy.

Another thing they hadn't done, which was eating on Gibbs more than he wanted to admit, was tell the rest of the team. Tim had wanted to wait until they knew what was wrong with him and if there was a possibility that it would get better. Gibbs had accepted the request, knowing that it would be easier on Tim if he had all the facts before having to talk to anyone. The two of them had taken the week off to take care of things, which included Tim coming to stay at Gibbs' house so that the kid wouldn't feel alone while he adjusted to the new reality he was facing.

However, Gibbs knew it would only be a matter of time before the rest of the team got impatient and tried to force Tim to talk. Already he'd fielded several calls from Tony, Ziva, and Abby, demanding to know where they were and what was going on. Gibbs had been as honest as he could without defying Tim's wishes: Tim was working through some issues, he was keeping an eye on him, there was nothing life threatening going on, Tim would talk to them when he was ready, not a single second earlier, and they were not to try and bully him. Abby, of course, had disregarded his instructions completely, showing up yesterday evening demanding to talk to Tim, who'd gone to hide in the basement the second he heard her voice. Apparently she'd been calling him every hour on the hour all day, trying to wear down his patience so that he would open up to her. Gibbs had very firmly told her to leave, and to stop calling Tim. When she refused to budge until he let her see him, Gibbs had nearly lost his temper, annoyed that she wasn't listening to him and trying to prod into things that she had no business getting into at the moment. He understood that she was concerned, that they were all concerned, but she wasn't getting the fact that she needed to think about what _Tim_ wanted, not what she wanted. He'd grabbed her arm and frog-marched her to the door, ordering her not to come back or contact Tim until Tim contacted her first.

He had a very bad feeling that out of everyone, including Tim, Abby was going to be the one who was going to have the most trouble accepting what was going on.

"Tim?" Dr. Acker strode towards them, causing Tim to immediately cease pacing and turn to him, bombarding the poor doc with questions.

"Do you have the test results? Do you know what's wrong with me? Am I gonna get my sight back? Can I go back to work at some point?"

"Tim, easy, let the man speak," Gibbs said, placing a hand on Tim's shoulder.

"Why don't we go to my office?" Dr. Acker suggested. Gibbs and Tim both nodded, and followed the ophthalmologist to his closet of an office, sitting down once again in front of his desk.

"Okay, Tim, I have your results back," Dr. Acker said, picking up a couple of files and opening one. "Lumbar puncture was clean, nothing out of the ordinary. Your DNA screen, however… you tested positive for Leber's Hereditary Optic Neuropathy."

The room was silent for a while, until Gibbs asked, "What the hell is that?"

"Leber's, or more commonly, LHON, is a rather rare genetic condition that causes the optic nerves to suddenly atrophy, resulting in the sudden loss of central vision," Dr. Acker explained. "The deterioration is acute, occurring usually over the span of weeks or months, or in your case, even days, but is typically painless. The end result is that you almost completely lose central vision, which you use to see faces, details, colors, and which you use to read, drive, and a number of different things we do without even thinking about it, while peripheral vision oftentimes remains intact. The various gene sequences which cause LHON is passed down through the mother's line to all of her children, which means that your mother and any female siblings she has are carriers, as is her mother and all of her female siblings."

"I have a sister who's eleven years younger than me," Tim whispered. "Does that mean she's going to get it, too?"

"She already has it, Tim, the question is whether or not it will actually manifest, if not, then she is still a carrier, and will pass it down to her children." Dr. Acker smiled kindly. "Thankfully, the probability that she will be affected by the condition is low, much lower for women than it is for men, especially with the gene sequence we've identified. She only has a nine percent chance of becoming affected, while you had a fifty-one percent chance."

"What are the chances that it'll get better?" Tim asked.

"I'm sorry, Tim, but they're very slim, between four and twenty-five percent," Dr. Acker said. "The gene sequence we identified is one of the most common associated with this condition, and the one associated with the most profound vision loss and smallest chances of recovery. There's a chance that your vision could get worse than it already is."

Tim grew pale, and put his head in his hands. Gibbs gently squeezed the back of his neck, and turned to the doctor. "Is there anything we can do to increase his chances of recovery?" He asked.

"Honestly, because this condition is so rare, there's no approved treatment, and there hasn't been a lot of research into treatments for it," Dr. Acker said quietly. "There is some active research into gene therapy as an option for treatment, but that's iffy on a good day. The most popular treatment right now is Idebenone, an oral gene supplement, but I think we're past the point at which it would be effective. The most I can tell you is to try to lead as healthy a lifestyle as you can, avoid smoking, and moderate your alcohol intake. Otherwise, there's really nothing more I can do for you. I'm very sorry, Tim."

Gibbs nodded at the doctor, and gently helped Tim up. The younger man was dead white, his eyes wide, and trembling terribly.

_He's going into shock,_ Gibbs thought, gently wrapping his arm around Tim's shoulders. He needed to get the kid home and in bed before he passed out. He quickly hustled Tim out to the Challenger, settling him into the passenger seat and buckling him up. He got into the driver's seat and peeled out of the hospital parking lot, every few minutes glancing at Tim to make sure he was okay.

They got stuck in traffic about halfway to Gibbs' house, and the older man took the opportunity to try and get a feel for what Tim was thinking.

"You okay?"

"What the hell do you think?" Tim snapped, sending him a glare that even Gibbs was impressed by.

_Anger stage,_ he thought. _Last week must've been denial._

"I think we need to figure out where to go from here," Gibbs said quietly.

"This is bullshit," Tim growled. "What the hell did I do to piss off whoever's in charge of stuff like this? How in the hell is this at all fair?"

"You didn't do a damn thing, Tim, it was just the luck of the draw," Gibbs told him.

"Some draw," Tim snarled. "Would've been nice to know that I was playing the game."

Gibbs sighed. He knew it was pointless to try and reason with Tim when he was like this- for all that he tried to rule himself by logic, Tim felt emotions very keenly. He was angry, and no amount of agreeing and commiseration was going to get him to calm down until he was good and ready.

They finished the drive in silence, and pulled into Gibbs' driveway as dusk was falling. Tim went straight up to the guest room he was staying in, while Gibbs got things together to grill steaks in the fireplace.

As he worked, he thought about the appointment, now that he'd gotten over the shock of it. As much as he wished for it, he knew Tim wouldn't be able to continue working on his team. Ninety percent of their job revolved around seeing things no one else did, whether it was physical evidence, suspects' expressions, or connections between people and evidence. If Tim could barely see a hand in front of his face, how was he going to see fingerprints on a murder weapon, or the minute twitch of guilt in a suspect's face? Tim's area of expertise, especially, required being able to read extensively. How was he going to do his computer magic if he couldn't read the screen?

And what about Tim's hobbies? His typewriter and videogames were his life outside of work. They allowed him to decompress, to forget for a while the horrors he saw on the job. How could he play his games if he couldn't see them? How could he write his stories if he couldn't read what he was writing to check for errors?

The grill was ready, and Gibbs carefully placed the two steaks on it and stoked the fire, causing the flames to grow and lick at the meat, searing it.

"Boss?"

Gibbs turned to find Tim standing awkwardly in the entrance to the living room, looking very reluctant and ill at ease. He smiled at the younger man, but it quickly disappeared when he remembered that Tim wouldn't be able to see it.

"Hey Tim," he said instead. "Feeling better?"

"Not really," Tim sighed, sitting down on the couch. "I'm not mad anymore, at least. I just… I'd give anything to get my sight back. All of my books, my records, my computers, even my damn typewriter. Would that be enough?"

Gibbs sighed, and pulled the grill out of the flames a bit, so that the meat wouldn't burn. "Tim, I know this is hard," he said. "But as much as you love them, your books, your records, your computers and typewriter… those are just things. Giving them up isn't gonna give you your sight back."

"What do I do, then?" Tim asked desperately, clutching his knees to his chest. "I can't work like this, Boss. What's gonna happen to me?"

Gibbs got up and sat next to Tim on the couch, gently squeezing his shoulder. "Everything's gonna be fine, Tim. It'll work out, I promise. You're not gonna go through this alone, remember? Me and the team'll be there for you. We'll figure it out together."

Tim nodded, still looking unsure, as Gibbs patted his shoulder and got up to check on the steaks.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Nice big angsty chapter here for y'all, as we finally figure out what's going on. All of the facts I've stated here are true to the best of my research, and the pamphlet Tim hands to Gibbs is an actual document that I found while doing my research (it's actually very interesting- just Google it). Therefore, I claim no ownership of either it or its author, in fact, the only thing I own in this chapter is Dr. Acker.<strong>

**Once again, Abby comes across as a bitch, but I promise it'll work out. Through the course of the series, I've often found myself a little annoyed with her character and how she always seems to run roughshod over everyone, so this is my wake-up call to her. I love the girl dearly, but everyone has to grow up some time.**

**Next chapter: Confession**


	3. CHAPTER THREE: Confessions

Periphery  
>An NCIS Fanfic<br>By CaelumFelis  
>Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or anything associated with it.<p>

_**WARNING: The beginning of this chapter portrays Abby in a very negative light. If this offends you, DO NOT READ. I have written her that way for a reason, and it took me a very long time to write this chapter. I appreciate any criticism (as long as it is intelligent, constructive, and polite), but I will not be changing this portrayal for any reason. Thank you for reading.**_

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER THREE: Confessions<strong>

_Day 13  
>Saturday<em>

Tony stood on the front porch of Gibbs' house, staring at the doorknob and thinking. Tim had called towards the end of the work day on Friday, apologizing for breaking Rule #3 and asking if Tony had any plans for Saturday. Even if he'd had plans, he would've cancelled them, since he hadn't seen or heard from his Probie in over a week. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Tony was worried about the guy. All hinky one week, and then completely absent the next, along with Gibbs, who was guarding him like a pit bull, according to Abby. And while he knew that whatever was wrong with Tim wasn't life threatening (Gibbs had at least told them that much Tuesday morning when he, Ziva, and Abby had all called him to find out if he was coming to work), it was still bad enough that Gibbs had been keeping everyone away for the entire week, which was enough to register on Tony's Hinky Meter.

Steeling his nerves, Tony grasped the doorknob and turned, only to find that, to his utter shock, the door was locked.

_What the hell?_

Tony knocked on the door, yelling out, "Hey Gibbs! It's Tony, McGee said he wanted to see me! Open up!"

A second later the door opened to reveal a sweats and t-shirt clad McGee, who smiled wanly as he let the older man in. "Hey, Tony, thanks for coming," he said, closing the door and following the senior field agent to the living room. "I know Saturdays are kind of sacred to you."

"No sweat, Probie," Tony replied, settling himself on the couch and watching Tim covertly, trying to figure out what was going on. Tim didn't appear to be sick, he actually looked very well rested, something Tony envied him for. He didn't appear injured, either, although he was moving a bit more slowly than the last time Tony had seen him, his strides slow and careful as he moved to the couch beside him. "Haven't seen you in a while. Everything okay?"

"If not okay, then at least tolerable," Tim replied vaguely. "Can the interrogation wait until everyone else gets here? I really only want to explain this once."

"Sure, McMysterious," Tony replied, frowning.

"Is the door unlocked?" Tim asked.

"Yeah, it is now," Tony answered, puzzled. "Why was it locked in the first place? Gibbs' door is _never_ locked."

"He's being paranoid," Tim said simply.

"Oookay," the senior field agent singsonged uncertainly, wondering why Gibbs would be paranoid. They weren't working any cases with suspects at large, hell, Gibbs hadn't been at the office in over a week. There was no reason for Gibbs to be paranoid.

Tony continued to watch Tim as the rest of the team slowly trickled in. He jumped when Ziva came up silently behind him and touched his shoulder, whirling around and pausing for a moment before relaxing and greeting her quietly. He lit up when Ducky and Jimmy entered together, Ducky loudly expressing his happiness and relief to see Tim looking so well.

However, it was Abby's entrance that really spiked Tony's worry and curiosity. The goth burst into the house and tackled Tim, almost literally bowling him over. He only managed to stay upright due to the quick intervention of Tony and Jimmy, who each grabbed a shoulder to steady him. Abby began demanding answers, gripping Tim's t-shirt and almost shaking him in her fury as she yelled a mile a minute. Tim could barely get a word in edgewise, which only infuriated her more. She didn't seem to see the terrified expression on Tim's face, but Tony did, and tried to pull the woman off of him, until she almost bit his hand off.

Gibbs chose that moment to walk into the room. He took one look at the scene and yelled at the top of his lungs, _"ABBY!"_ Tony suspected that they could hear him all the way up in New York, but it did the trick. Abby jumped almost a mile into the air and whirled around, stopping her tirade mid-word.

"Gibbs, what's going on? Why haven't either of you come to work? Why hasn't Timmy been answering my calls? What's going on?"

"Abby, calm down and let Tim speak, would ya?" Tony growled, easing Tim back down onto the couch. "We all want answers, too, but we're not gonna get them if you're jumping down the poor guy's throat!"

"I'm sorry," Abby whimpered, shrinking a bit. Ziva took her hand and led her to a chair, sitting down beside her on the arm. "I'm sorry, Timmy. I just… I've been worried about you, since that big awful guy hit you."

The glare Tim sent her way gave Tony chills, and caused Abby to color and duck her head uncomfortably.

"Okay, everyone settle down now, please," Ducky said, looking from Tim to Abby and back severely. "Timothy, if you wouldn't mind."

Tim nodded, clenching his fists where they rested on his thigh, and ducking his head. "You guys… you know how I kept messing up stuff, week before last?" He said quietly.

"Yeah, so?" Abby blurted out, before squeaking in terror at the five glares (Tony, Ziva, Ducky, Jimmy, and Gibbs) directed her way.

Tim didn't seem to notice, as his hands gripped and twisted the material of his sweatpants as he worked up his nerve. Tony gently gripped his shoulder, and Tim shot him a small, grateful smile before continuing. "The reason I kept screwing everything up was because my eyesight… my central vision was starting to… to go away. I was having trouble reading and writing, and I couldn't see well enough to drive, so I had to take the Metro to work every morning, and I was always late because I kept getting lost because I couldn't see the signs for the trains. Savage was able to punch me out because I couldn't see well enough to duck the hit. When I woke up Monday morning, I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I called 911, because I was scared to drive. The doctors ran a bunch of tests, including a DNA screen, and they found… I tested positive for…" For a moment, Tim seemed to struggle to find the words he needed, and Tony felt his heart sink. Tim's entire life revolved around words, he was one of the most eloquent men Tony had ever met, when he wasn't terrified or stressed out. If he couldn't tell them what was wrong with him, it had to be bad.

"Just say it, Tim," Gibbs rumbled quietly, coming to stand behind him and placing a hand on his other shoulder.

Tim nodded, and took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm now legally blind," he said quietly. "I have a rare hereditary disease called Leber's Hereditary Optic Neuropathy. My optic nerves just suddenly decided to kick the bucket practically all at once, and now I have next to no central vision. My peripheral vision's still intact, though, which is why I'm not walking round with a white cane and crashing into stuff."

Tony blinked, staring at his friend. Tim was blind? His Probie? There had to be some kind of mistake… Tim couldn't be…

"Blind?" Abby whispered, hands covering her mouth and tears filling her eyes. "Timmy… no, that's not true! Tell me it's not true, Timmy!"

Tim's head was hung low, his elbows on his knees, shoulders shaking slightly as tears slowly and silently trickled down his cheeks. "It's true, Abby," he whispered. "I can't see."

"Oh, Probie," Tony murmured, wrapping his arms around him, male pride be damned. His best friend was probably scared out of his mind, both of the new reality he was facing and of the reactions of his teammates, his family. He needed any kind of comfort and support they could give him, and Tony was ready to do whatever it took to help. "We'll get you through this. We're here for you buddy."

"No… no no no! This can't be happening, it's not true! Stop lying, Timmy! Stop pretending!" Abby sobbed. "I'm sorry, Timmy! Whatever I did to make you this mad, I'm sorry! Just stop lying to us! Stop it!"

"I'm not lying, Abby!" Tim yelled suddenly, jumping to his feet. The look on Tim's face chilled Tony to the bone- he'd never seen the younger, calmer man so furious. "I'm not making this up! I can't see a damn thing, and that's the truth! You think this is some kind of stupid revenge for the way you treated me the week before last? _Get the hell over yourself, Abigail!_ I'm f-ing _blind!_ My optic nerves are shot! If you can't deal with it, then get the hell out, and don't come back until you get your head out of your ass and _WAKE UP!"_

Tim was shaking with rage, his pale face flushed and wet with tears of fury and anguish, while Abby just sat in the chair, curled up into herself and sobbing loudly. Tony looked from one to the other, caught between his two younger siblings. He loved them both, but if he was honest with himself, he didn't really sympathize with Abby as much as he usually would. She'd accused Tim, the most honest man Tony had ever known and will ever know, of lying straight to their faces about something that was obviously tearing him apart. She couldn't get over herself enough to provide the support Tim needed right now, and Tony found himself gently squeezing Tim's shoulder, grabbing Abby's arm, and dragging her outside, not caring a whit if Gibbs fired him or even shot him for manhandling his favorite. Abby had crossed a line, and she'd been allowed to get away with doing so too many times before. It had to end, and it was going to end right now. He yanked open the front door, pushed Abby outside, and followed, slamming the door behind him.

"Tony?" Abby whimpered, looking at him through her bangs and eyelashes, mascara smeared down her face from her tears. She looked completely pathetic, and like a little girl who knew she was in deep, deep trouble, but Tony found he didn't care. Her little act wasn't going to work on him anymore, not now that she'd completely insulted his best friend and little brother.

"No, Abby," he growled, and she winced, both at his tone and the stony glare he was giving her. "It's over. Get the hell out of here, and don't come back until you can give Tim the support he really needs right now. Go now, before I really lose my temper."

Abby crumpled, dissolving into sobs as she turned on her heel and ran to her car. He watched dispassionately as she drove slowly away, before taking a deep breath and going back inside.

He was almost afraid to go back into the living room. Childish or not, Abby was extremely popular with everyone on the team, and he hoped he wouldn't get shot or gutted or punched out. Taking another deep, steadying breath, he walked slowly into the living room, every nerve ending tingling, awaiting any sign that he should get the heck out of there before someone killed him.

Tim was sitting back down on the couch, Ziva curled into his left side while Jimmy sat on his right with his hand on Tim's shoulder. Ducky sat on an ottoman in front of them, patting Tim's knee and slowly waving a flashlight in front of his eyes. Tony felt his gut twist as Tim barely blinked at the bright light going straight into his bright green orbs. Gibbs paced back and forth behind the couch, every so often peering through the window at the street. Steeling himself, Tony went to his boss first, head down, offering himself up to the man to do with as he wished. He'd protected his Probie, and was now willing to face whatever Gibbs was going to do to him for daring to lay a hand on his favorite.

He flinched when he felt a large, calloused hand on his shoulder, and waited for either the mother of all headslaps, a knife or bullet in his gut, or a hard punch to the jaw. When none came, he slowly raised his head up to find Gibbs looking at him with the strangest mix of sadness, anger, and pride on his face.

"Good job, DiNozzo," he said quietly, squeezing his shoulder.

Tony couldn't help the slightly manic grin that crossed his face, and he turned to find Ducky nodding approvingly at him. A swift clap on the shoulder sent Tony around to the front of the couch, where Ducky gave up his ottoman for Tony to sit in front of his Probie.

"Tony?" Tim whispered, nostrils flaring. Tony realized with a shock that Tim was recognizing him from the scent of his cologne, and resolved to wear just a bit more than usual, until Tim's senses had fully compensated for his weakened sight.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me," Tony said, squeezing Tim's knee gently.

"Thank you, for taking Abby out," Tim said quietly. "I- I didn't think she'd react like that… I don't understand…"

"Don't worry about it, Probie, Abby just got a very serious reality check," Tony replied confidently. "She's not gonna bother you again until she's ready to apologize. And I promise I'll be there with you when she does, in case she tries to run over you again. I won't let her hurt you anymore, Tim, you can count on that."

Tim nodded brokenly, and bowed his head again, sniffling quietly. Tony wrapped his arms around him once more and pulled him forward, until Tim's forehead was resting against his shoulder, and his tears began soaking his shirt.

"You're not doing this alone anymore, Probie," he whispered quietly, holding Tim tightly. "I promise."

_***NCIS***_

_Day 14  
>Sunday<em>

Tony rolled his eyes as Tim squirmed as they sat on Gibbs' couch, awaiting the arrival of Tim's sister, grandmother, and father. Gibbs was in the basement, avoiding the tension wracked living room, but Tim had asked Tony to stay with him, and he couldn't very well abandon his Probie. No matter how good sawdust and bourbon sounded right now.

Gibbs emerged from his cave just as Tony heard an engine pull up to the side of the road in front of the house.

"Oh great, he brought the Cadillac," Tim grumbled, levering himself up to get the door. Tony didn't help him, having learned the hard way that Tim was determined to keep as much independence as possible, which meant waiting until he either asked for help (which was quite rare) or until it became perfectly obvious that something was beyond him (which happened more often), in which case any help provided was given without fanfare or any attention drawn to it at all.

"Cadillac?" Tony asked, following his friend to the door.

"Yeah, Dad rescued a '47 Cadillac Derham Custom Limousine and restored it himself whenever he was home on shore leave," Tim explained. "It was the only way he and I really bonded- he was too big into sports and the Navy and stuff, and all I wanted to do was write programming and detective novels. Whenever he was on shore leave, we spent three hours each day working on that car, and that was really the only time we were ever in the same room together without him going off on me about something. After I crashed the Camaro, though, he wouldn't let me set a single foot in the garage, and touching the Derham was absolutely out of the question."

Tony patted Tim on the shoulder as they watched Sarah, Penny Langston, and a tall, imposing man who could only be Admiral McGee, walk up to the door.

"Tony, go sit down," Tim hissed, before they were both deafened by a heavy pounding on the door. Blinking in surprise, Tony did as he was told, wondering.

"Tim!" Sarah McGee's voice was bright and cheerful, and the slight "oomph" he heard out of Tim told the senior field agent that the college student had picked up Abby's habit of tackle-hugs.

"Hey, Sarah," Tim said, sounding happier than Tony had heard him in the last two weeks.

"Timothy, sweetheart!" Penny's deep alto voice rang through the house like a brass bell. "Don't you look wonderful! Have you been eating those wheatgrass squares I sent you?"

"Great to see you too, Penny," Tim sighed good naturedly, causing Tony to grin. Tim's grandmother was a battleaxe, and reminded him of his own grandmother, the only one who could make his father cower.

"Timothy," rumbled a strong tenor voice. "How are you?"

"Fine, sir," Tim said quietly, all trace of previous happiness gone. Tony scowled. He hadn't formally met the man, and already he hated Admiral McGee's guts, just for the way Tim sounded when he spoke to him. "Thanks for coming on such short notice. This way, please."

Tony stood as Tim entered the living room, followed by Sarah, Penny, and the Admiral. Gibbs strode forward to meet them, his expression neutral.

"On your three, Tim," the team leader called quietly, and Tim turned to him, a grateful smile on his face. Tony smirked- they'd worked out a system to help Tim supplement his peripheral vision, which let him know that there was _something_ around him, but not much else. By calling out their position to Tim as they approached, they let him know who was coming, and which direction they were coming from, which helped avoid heart attacks on both sides. Tim's family looked at the pair curiously, as Gibbs gripped his shoulder gently in subtle moral support.

"Sarah, Penny, you know my boss, Special Agent Gibbs," Tim said, as Gibbs reached out to shake the women's hands. Sarah grinned openly at him, while Penny regarded him imperiously, with a small, mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Hi, Agent Gibbs," Sarah said, shaking his hand firmly.

"Agent Gibbs," Penny greeted, her tone cool and playful at the same time, which caused Gibbs to smirk.

"Sarah, Penny," Gibbs nodded.

"Boss, this is my father, Admiral Sean J. McGee," Tim said, gesturing to the Admiral. "Dad, this is Senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

Admiral McGee's expression was blank as he shook Gibbs' hand, as was Gibbs', but Tony got the feeling that both men were sizing each other up, and finding the other lacking. The Admiral's green eyes, frighteningly similar to Tim's, grew cold as he took in the simply dressed, silver haired ex-Marine, while Gibbs' lips pressed together oh-so-slightly at the Admiral's full summer uniform, complete with all the trimmings.

_Who on earth wears a full-on uniform on a Sunday when they're not on duty?_ Tony wondered, as the two men released each other's hands, and turned to Tony, who took his cue to present himself.

"Agent DiNozzo!" Sarah greeted him with a hug rather similar to what he'd imagined she'd given Tim, causing Tony to step back a bit from her force.

"Hey there, Mini McBlogger!" Tony laughed, hugging Sarah back, fully aware of both Tim's and the Admiral's eyes on them. "Trashed any cheerleaders recently?"

"Nah, they've gotten boring," Sarah replied, smirking at him.

"Nice to see you again, Agent DiNozzo," Penny said, stepping forward and smirking flirtatiously.

"Penny, ma'am," Tony nodded respectively, smiling back. He pried Sarah off of him, and went to Tim's side, murmuring, "On your three, Probie," as he did so. Tim nodded.

"Tony, this is my dad, Admiral Sean J. McGee," he introduced again. "Dad, this is my teammate, Senior Field Agent Anthony DiNozzo, Jr."

"Pleasure meeting you, Admiral, sir," Tony said, offering his hand and a small, friendly smile. The Admiral shot him an imperious look as he shook Tony's hand in a death grip, which the younger man tried and failed desperately to match.

"Anthony DiNozzo?" He questioned. "Met your father once. Very charming man, in a slimy sort of way. Tried to scam his way into receiving half of the inheritance I received from my father when he died. He never told me he had a son."

"I'm sure he didn't," Tony grumbled.

"Why don't we all sit, and Timothy can tell us what he needs to tell us," Penny said diplomatically, shooting a withering glare at the Admiral, who appeared only partially chastened.

"This way, please," Gibbs said, leading everyone over to the living room. Tim sat down in the middle of the couch, and Tony immediately sat down on his left, while Gibbs went to his right. Sarah and Penny each took a chair, and the Admiral stood in between them, at attention.

"For heaven's sake, Sean, you're not on board ship, relax!" Penny scolded, and the Admiral rolled his eyes and adjusted his stance to parade rest. Penny sighed, and Tim smirked.

"Well Timothy? We're waiting," the Admiral growled.

Tim gulped, his hands fisting on his jean-clad knees. "A couple of weeks ago, I started having problems with my vision…"

As Tim slowly and quietly explained the situation, Tony found himself studying each McGee in turn. Sarah was crying silently, her eyes never leaving Tim's face. Penny was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line, but the rest of her expression determined and resolute. The Admiral's expression was icy, his features, so similar to Tim's, chiseled and hard, and the eyes he shared with his son flinty as he stared coldly at Tim. Tony found himself glaring at the man on Tim's behalf, hoping they weren't going to have another Abby-esque situation on their hands. He had no doubt that the Admiral would not hesitate to snap him in half if he tried to throw the man out.

"So I'm now legally blind," Tim finished simply. "I'm sorry for leaving you all out of the loop for so long, but I needed time to get used to things, and my team needed to know first because they're going to have to find a replacement for me. You understand, right? Dad?"

Admiral McGee didn't answer. Instead, he sent Tim a chilling glare, turned on his heel, and walked out of the house.

"Daddy?" Sarah called in shock, jumping out of her chair.

"Sean? Get the hell back here, Sean!" Penny yelled, storming to her feet.

"Dad?" Tim whispered, blinking furiously as tears welled up in his sightless green eyes. Tony wrapped his arm around Tim's shoulders and glared in the direction the Admiral had left in.

"I'll be right back, Tim," Gibbs said quietly, patting Tim's shoulder before striding out after the Admiral.

"Timmy? Timmy, are you okay?" Sarah said, dropping to her knees in front of Tim and cupping his face in her hands. "Timmy, it's gonna be okay, Daddy just- he just needs time to get used to things, just like you. He'll be back, Timmy."

"Sarah's right, sweetheart," Penny said gently, replacing Gibbs at Tim's right side and reaching up to stroke his hair. "Sean's not angry at you, I promise."

"Tony, what was his expression like? While I was explaining everything?" Tim asked quietly. "And I want the truth, Tony."

Tony bit his lip. "He… he looked pissed, Probie," he replied quietly, not looking at the glares Penny and Sarah were sending his way. "I'm sorry, man, but he looked seriously pissed off. He was looking at you like… I can't even describe it. All I know is that I wanted to punch his lights out for looking at you that way."

"I know the look you're talking about," Tim sighed. "It's the same one he gave me the last time we talked, when I told him about my transfer to Gibbs' team. He's never coming back this time."

"Timothy, no, that's not-" Penny began to object, but Tim cut her off.

"Wake up, Penny! Nothing I do has ever been good enough for him!" Tim exclaimed angrily. "And now there's not a single chance in hell that I'll ever be good enough for him again! He's always wanted the perfect son to follow him into the Navy and become an Admiral just like him, but instead he got me- seasick, unathletic, uncoordinated, legally blind Timothy who could never do a damn thing right!"

Tim stood up abruptly, and stalked swiftly to the stairs. With a single glance at the front door, he climbed up the stairs and disappeared, leaving Tony alone with Penny and Sarah.

"I'm… I'm really sorry, you guys," Tony sighed, standing up and extending both hands to help the women up. "He's been having a hard time the last couple of weeks, according to Gibbs. I think it might be best if you guys take off."

"Not to worry, Agent DiNozzo, we understand," Penny said, accepting his hand with a sorrowful look on her face. "I'll try to talk some sense into Sean, but please let Timothy know that whatever he needs, all he needs is to ask."

"Same here," Sarah said, giving Tony a halfhearted hug. "Is there anything we can do right now?"

"You mind going by Tim's place and straightening up a bit?" Tony asked slowly. "He's gonna want to go back home at some point, might be nice not to have to clean when you can't see what you're cleaning. Also, see what kind of dog food he buys- Jethro's running kind of low."

"You got it," Sarah said. "See you 'round, Agent Tommy."

"See you 'round, McGee-ling," Tony smirked.

"Take care of Timothy, Agent DiNozzo," Penny said quietly. "Make sure he knows that Sarah and I still love him, blind or not."

"I will, don't worry," Tony replied. He walked the two ladies to the door, finding Gibbs and the Admiral standing on the porch, looking like they were minutes away from killing each other.

"Sean, we're leaving," Penny said severely, pinning her son with a fierce glare. "Come along."

"Coming, Mother," the Admiral growled. "Do we have an agreement, Agent Gibbs?"

"You're making a big mistake, Admiral," Gibbs snarled. "Tim's a good man, being blind doesn't make him any less so. He's your _son_!"

"Not anymore, Agent Gibbs," the Admiral said quietly. "He's your problem now."

"You're just gonna abandon him?" Tony jumped in, shocked. "You bastard, he _needs _you! You're his g-ddamned _father!_ You can't just kick him to the curb because of something he didn't have any control over!"

"My decision is final," the Admiral ground out. "Agent Gibbs, my lawyer will have the necessary paperwork in your hand by the end of business hours tomorrow."

"Boss, you can't-"

"You better be damn sure about this, McGee," Gibbs growled, hand resting gently on his SIG, "because once this is finalized, if I ever see you within a mile of Tim ever again, I'm gonna blow your head clean off your shoulders. And I'm not gonna feel one lick of remorse."

"Don't worry, you won't see me again," the Admiral sneered. "Say goodbye to Timothy for me… he was a good kid, for all of his uselessness."

Tony snarled and rushed the bastard, determined to punch the bastard's lights out for insulting his Probie like that. However, Gibbs grabbed him before he could take another step, yanking his arms back and throwing his whole weight backwards to keep Tony from moving.

"Tony, no, he's not worth it!" Gibbs hissed. "He's not worth losing your career!"

"He insulted Tim, Boss!" Tony hissed back, fighting with all of his strength. "He called Probie useless!"

"I know, Tony, and I'm just as pissed as you are, but think about how Tim would react if he heard that you lost your job because you lost your temper?" Gibbs demanded.

Tony felt himself shaking as he forced himself to calm down, refusing to look at the smirking bastard.

"Get the hell off of my property, McGee," Gibbs snarled, forcibly pulling Tony back and placing himself in front of him. "You ever show your face around here again, I'll kill you with my bare hands."

The Admiral smirked, and tugged his cover on before turning on his heel and marching to his car, Penny and Sarah following silently behind him. Tony and Gibbs watched them go, never looking away as the vintage car sped away down the street.

Tony turned to his boss, seeing the fury he felt on Gibbs' face. "If I ever see that bastard again, Boss, I'm gonna kill him, and no one will ever find the body," he growled.

"Get in line, DiNozzo," Gibbs sighed, the anger draining from his face, replaced with sad resignation. "C'mon, let's go get dinner started."

"What about Tim?" Tony asked as he followed the older man back inside.

"He'll come back down when he's ready, just give him some space," Gibbs replied.

Tony nodded, sparing one more glance towards the stairs before sighing to himself and following Gibbs into the kitchen.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: To those of you who read my warning at the top of the chapter, and still decided to read, thank you. I had a really, really hard time putting this chapter together, but it was necessary for the plot of the story. And even though things seem bad right now, don't worry, they'll even out. For all of her childishness and desire for everything to go on exactly as it has been, Abby isn't a cruel person, nor is she stupid. She'll be back, I promise, and I promise this won't be the last time we see Admiral McGee. Just be patient, and be ready to grab some tissues, if you haven't already.<strong>

**Thanks for reading!**

**Next chapter: Rehabilitation**


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